


Man's New Best Friend

by LuuuCifer



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Mental Health Issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-04-16
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:21:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22064701
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuuuCifer/pseuds/LuuuCifer
Summary: Daryl's been in a deep depression for a few years following Rick's death and Carol's marriage. He's still out there looking for Rick... And maybe punishing himself just a bit.This is the story of how Dog became a Dixon. Takes place in the Season 9 time jump and follows canon.Some angsty Caryl feels, pining.
Relationships: Daryl Dixon/Carol Peletier
Comments: 6
Kudos: 62





	1. Chapter 1

"Well, all I'm saying is its been like, three years. I know why this is important to you, Daryl. I get it. I just-" she paused, watching him fiddle with his flint and knife, the odd spark falling to the damp forest floor, "Daryl?"

"I hear ya," he muttered, still staring at nothing in particular. His clothes hung off him a little more this time. He knew it. He couldn't hide it. Not as badly as they had after they'd spent all that time on the road the first winter, but he knew she could tell that regular meals had become a less frequent thing for him as of late. Too stubborn to go pick rations up at one of the settlements. He'd been settling for what few and far between small game he'd managed to trap. She frowned as he met her eyes through the matted curtain of dark hair. She turned on her heel to walk to the small wagon that she'd driven out here. He watched her stride to the back of the wagon and pull the tailgate down, admonishing himself for liking how her jeans pulled taught over her curves as she moved. She pulled two wooden crates, heavy with canned, pickled, and preserved provisions, towards herself. Huffing a small sigh, he rose to his feet, hurrying to her side knowing she'd try to heft the heavy items. 

She turned to meet him with a stiff smile, handing the crates off, knowing he'd insist, then grabbed a large sack fashioned out of a tarp, slinging it over her shoulder and followed him to his tent. He heard the flap open behind him as he set the crates down in the corner across from his small cot. Didn't expect she'd corner him in his small, makeshift quarters. She smiled over at him and stepped further in, taking a moment to look around the cramped space before settling down onto his cot. He was very suddenly aware of how dirty his bedding was. There were odd patches of dried blood soaking into the blankets from nights he'd stumbled in, too exhausted to walk the last few feet to the river to wash himself off before passing out. It wasn't right, her having to sit amongst his mess. She looked so pristine and neat, clothes freshly laundered, her now shaggy, salt & pepper hair was clean and long enough to tuck behind her ears. There wasn't a smudge of grime or blood on her. He grimaced at himself, realizing how bad he smelled. 

"Eat something." She said, plainly, still smiling up at him with kind eyes, and then motioned for him to come sit next to her. He turned and stopped to retrieve a jar of whatever. 

"Yes, Your Majesty." He quipped, hoarsely as he turned back around to sink into the cot beside her, opening the glass mason jar of what appeared to be pickled cauliflower. She gave him a teasing glare and elbowed him gently in the ribs, causing some of the brine in the jar to drip down his arm.

"Watch it, Dixon," she warned as she opened up the sack she'd pulled into her lap. He put an arm up in surrender as he licked some of the juice off the other hand. He regretted it the second he did it. He felt like a slob. A peasant in the presence of actual royalty. But she never judged, never took pity, and always offered him that same, sweet smile that caused his heart to ache in the the worst way.

She started dragging items from the bag. 

"Two t-shirts. Three button-ups. Two pairs of pants," she began listing as she sorted through it all, "...four pairs of boxers, even though you refuse to wear them..."

He felt heat shoot into his cheeks and he froze at the comment, thumb still in his mouth as he pushed a piece of the pickled vegetable in. She caught his eyes with hers, giving him another teasing grin, and then rolled them away as she went back to the bag. He swallowed hard. 

"A brand new pack of socks that I nabbed for you when a group came back from a run in DC... A towel. A rain coat... Annnnd, uh, book of matches and a pair of binoculars," she grinned folding up the head of clothes, stuffing it all back into the waterproof bag and looking for a place to stash the lot. 

"You didn't need to do this. People at The Kingdom who need this stuff more'n me." He said around a mouthful of food. She fixed him with another look and without shifting her eyes away, reached for a particularly threadbare spot on his black, sleeveless shirt and poked a hole right through it with little effort. It was like she'd just poked her pointer finger through wet tissue paper.

"More than you, huh?"

All he could do was grunt in response. She laughed. 

"Well, you can either accept the supplies or go back home." She shrugged, a smug "gotcha" look on her face. 

"Oh, yer THAT accustomed to orderin' people around now, huh?" he said with a bit of a bite to his voice. He screwed the lid back on the jar in his hands, shaking his head. "Can't go back yet. I ain't done lookin'."

He was a bit offended that she kept pushing the topic. What did it matter to her that he went back? She wasn't gonna be around. She wasn't going to be seeing him any more regularly than she does now. He'd be going back to Alexandria, if anywhere, and she'd be staying with her husband, "The King", in the Kingdom. She'd suggested he come back with her to The Kingdom before, but that's the last thing he'd ever do. He was happy that she was happy. He truly was. But that didn't mean he'd be able to see her, his best friend, the woman he loved, happy with her husband. He'd convinced himself it was better this way. He'd stay gone and make himself useful looking for whatever was left of his other best friend's remains, be they walking or not, and bring that back home so he and the rest of his family could have some damn closure. 

"Daryl, what if you never find anything?" she said, sadly. He stood up, placing the jar back in the crate with the rest of the food she'd brought, turned back to her and shrugged.

"I'll never stop lookin'. Owe him that much."

She exhaled and just stared up at him, lips pulled up in one corner, the way it did when she was trying her damndest to keep her mouth shut. Suddenly, their attention was pulled outside the tent. They could hear splashing in the shallows of the river. It was closer than they would have liked, too, as the recent rains had caused the river to swell above its normal level. In fact, Daryl had been planning to move his camp a bit back towards the tree line tomorrow, just in case the rain continued to fall. Whatever was splashing around in the water was about ten feet from the unsecured tent flap. There wasn't any way it hadn't heard them talking.

Daryl's hand was automatically on his knife, Carol's hand on her own. He drew a finger to his lips, not that he'd have to her to be quiet, but just out of habit. He drew his knife and stepped around her, placing his hand on the flap. She stood up behind him ready to cover him. He counted down, silently in his head. 

3...2...1

He pulled back the thin weather-proof material, knife raised and at the ready, and stepped out ask in one motion, Carol at his back. They looked up to see a dog in the water. It was filthy, caked with blood, mud, and probably deer shit. It was panting desperately like it had been chasing something and stopped to drink, water dripping from its tight, angular mouth. It looked as surprised to see them as they were to see it. They both loosened their posture, relaxing a bit, only to have the dog pin its ears back and growl at them. It gave a sharp, warning bark, and that had Daryl dragging his knife back up and reaching to ensure Carol was safely tucked behind him. 

He'd never been bitten by a dog before. Not badly, anyway. He had been playing with a neighbor's little terrier dog when he was about 5 or 6 and one thing led to another and it ended up biting his pinky finger. But he'd seen the result of a buddy of Merle's getting chewed on by some narc dog back in the day, and he found himself wondering for a second if getting shredded to the bone by a dog like this was worse than a Walker bite.

The dog made a move to take a step forward. He cursed under his breath because his crossbow was still over by the log he'd been sitting on, a ways out of reach. This was it. He was gonna get mauled to death by somebody's goddamn house pet. 

Just then a Walker shuffled through the trees on the opposite side of his camp by the far side of Carol's wagon. The dog turned at the sound and growled again, but yelped this time and took off into the trees just beyond the tent. Daryl watched it go for a second and saw it look back over its shoulder as it darted between the trees and scrub. He contemplated letting the Walker continue after it to chase it away, but he decided against it, figuring he'd rather make sure there were no moving Walkers in the area and on the the off chance it did catch the dog, even though it had growled at him, getting torn to bits by the dead was no way for anything to die. 

He moved forward, catching the snarling corpses by the back of its fetid shirt and sank his knife into the top of its head. He looked back over to Carol who looked a confused as he was and just shrugged. 

"Ol' Yeller 'bout got his ass kicked."

She scoffed and sheathed her knife.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl goes to a pretty dark place. Someone needs help and he finds himself offering a hand.
> 
> TW for self-harm and some pretty anxiety inducing thought patterns. While Daryl, canonically, has dealt with emotional pain in similar ways in the past, I do want to make sure you have a heads up that this chapter may be tough to get through if you suffer from depression or anxiety. It was a bit tough to write for the same reasons.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wooooo. That took a while to write. Sorry, frands. This Coronavirus crap has given me a few days to write some stuff. Thanks for hanging in there and reading. Leave me a comment and some love, if you can.

They'd risen in their separate tents and stepped out into the clammy spring morning. They made small talk around the fire for a bit. Laughed a little. Remembered some wonderful friends. He was glad that she seemed like she genuinely wanted to stay and chat, but eventually state to feel like he was keeping her from much more important things.

"Don't you got some loyal subjects you gotta be gettin' back to soon?" he eventually teased, ruefully. The innocent jab earned him a hangdog smile. He helped her pack. She promised she'd be back in a few weeks.

And she left again. Like she always did. He knew she eventually would have. That was never a question. She was going back to a vast, vibrant community, and he was thankful she'd be tucked safely behind the walls. It tore at him that he didn't see her often anymore, but if there was one thing he was thankful for, besides her happiness with her new family, it was that Ezekiel could keep her safe better than he ever could. Ezekiel would sooner die than ever allow something to happen to her. Hell, the first time she came out here to meet up with him, the dude had sent a small army with her. And while Carol had found it incredibly annoying to have the "King's Guard" detail trailing behind her, Daryl found himself actually going to bat for Ol' Zeke & his damned grand gestures. 

"I get it," he'd defended, "He wants to keep his new wife safe. Can't blame the man."

He wasn't lying. He'd do the same if he had managed to be worth a goddamn. But he wasn't. He was just some asshole. And now all but a few of the people he'd end up caring about in this hellscape were lost to the world and its cruelties. And the one woman he'd choose to walk through it all and back with, over and over again, found a new life with someone he'd never measure up to.

He'd set to moving his campsite further back from the river. He had to busy himself with something. His mind was all twisted up and his stomach was sick. Despite dismantling everything in the rain and the wet, his mind was still spinning. After a few hours, everything had been moved, but he was cold, soaked to the bone, and felt more miserable now than he had prior. He entered into the tent, shucking the new raincoat she'd brought him, and draped it over his crossbow to dry. Bending to lay it down hurt.

Standing hurt. 

Laying down hurt. 

Everything was painful. 

He stood in the center of the tent just staring, fat drops of water dripping from his hair. It could have been for a moment. It could have been for twenty minutes. A chill ran up his back and broke him from his spell. He wiped the back of his hand on the wet material covering his leg, vaguely registering a small injury of some sort there. Gently, he lowered himself into his cot and began removing his rain soaked boots and pants in order to change them out for some of the new clothes Carol had brought. Hastily, he ran the new towel over his sopping mop of hair before pulling the new pants on and stuffing his rarely bare feet safely back into boots. With a huff of exhaustion, he turned to lower himself to sprawl on his cot.

With the weather being what it had been lately, he hadn't been out much to continue his search for Rick's remains. Following a swollen river with little to no bank would be a fool's errand. More so than it had already proven to be. If he was being honest with himself, he'd have to acknowledge that he'd started to wonder what the hell he'd been doing the last few months. He known at one point, if he was nothing else, he was at the very least a damn good tracker. He'd have found at least something by now. But being out here, full time, over the last few years had proven absolutely fruitless. It was starting to weigh on him just as everything else he'd been to busy to process over the last few years had. Silence had become deafening recently. And the loudest voice among the dull road had become his own thoughts, reminding him of his every failure. 

He felt saline sting his eyes and quickly swiped at them with both hands before pulling himself back up to sit, tossing his feet to the floor. His left knee bounced erratically as he started to chew at his worn nails. The breath caught in his throat.

Rick was dead. He was never going to find him.

Daryl scrubbed at his patchy beard. His heart felt weak despite its sudden pounding against the inside of his ribcage. 

He'd dug himself down to Purgatory. He couldn't go back now, especially with nothing to show for his time out here. Not to Alexandria or anywhere. Everything had changed. Nothing felt right. And though he'd take a bullet for most of the people he'd come to call his family, at some point, he'd felt like he'd become unworthy of them. Again.

His chest grew tighter. He couldn't swallow.

He'd failed them all. He'd failed himself. 

His hands felt numb. The back of his neck burned. 

He'd lost so many. It was his fault.

He could feel a scream trying to leave his empty lungs.

He'd lost Beth. And Glenn. And Merle. And Rick.

He fisted his hands into his hair. He couldn't still his leg.

He'd lost Sophia. 

He'd failed Carol. 

He tore his hands from his hair and dug his thumbnail into the small cut on the back of his left hand. The sharp pain was a pressure release valve. His lungs filled with air again as warm tears made trails down his face. He shuddered on an exhale before his mind cleared a bit.

"Shit," he spat, disgusted with himself. He grabbed the edge of the new towel and held it to his hand, silently reprimanding himself for causing himself an injury like this. He lifted his eyes, rolling them to the tent ceiling and growled at his stupidity. With his luck, he'd die nice and slow from this getting infected. 

He sat there for a moment, successfully managing to stem the minor amount of blood from the small cut. As he reached for a small First Aid kit he had stashed beneath his cot, a sharp cry sounded from some distance away. It was guttural, loud, and frantic. It echoed all around the small valley he'd settled in. He recognized the sound immediately. That goddamn dog was beckoning every Walker in earshot to have a sit down 'round his fire. The mutt was the side dish and he'd be the main course, at this rate.

Grabbing for his crossbow, he rose instantly to throw the flap of his tent open and rushed into the thick forest that bordered his campsite. He could tell exactly where the frantic cries were coming from. He'd set some cable snares down on an old deer trail he'd found. He'd not seen any evidence of deer lately. He was just hoping for a fat racoon or opossum. Well now, dammit, that dog had clearly blundered into it, and by the sound of it, it was tearing its own neck up real good. As he got closer, the cries were becoming more strangled. Either it was running out of air or a Walker had gotten to it first. He really wasn't in the mood to see a Walker elbow deep in a live dog's guts, today. He felt guilty enough already.

Thankfully, as he he crested a small rise in the Virginia soil, he saw no corpses in sight. Just that stupid dog, throwing itself around on the end of the wire, dirt rutted and torn up around its body. It grew quiet as it realized he was close, slowing its desperate flailing to minimal kicks and twists. It let out a low growl that tapered off into a distressed whine. Daryl sighed and surveyed the area. Sure enough, a Walker wasn't far off. It lumbered through the trees towards them. Daryl looked back at the dog before turning toward the approaching threat and taking aim with his crossbow. His bolt flew and made contact with the intended target, felling the body easily. 

Satisfied he was no longer in danger, Daryl dropped his bow from his sights setting it to the forest floor and reached for his multi-tool that he used for cutting these wires, making to move toward the trapped animal. It let out another growl, it's lip curling back over its sizeable canine teeth. The sight caused Daryl to reply with a snarl of his own.

"S'what I get for runnin' out here to free your ass? Coulda let that one get ya," he ground as he paused and lowered his stance a measure before continuing forward. He dog eyes him suspiciously, stilling it's movements in the mud. 

"You want out, yer gonna have'ta let me do this. Other option is... Not like I ain't eaten dog before."

He moved forward incrementally, eventually dipping down into a squat. The animal kept its eyes fixed on his hand, waiting for the stranger to strike. Daryl could see the fear in its   
eyes. It pulled at his chest.

"S'alright. Ain't gonna hurt ya. S'alright," he promised, reaching forward. He scoffed, internally. He knew the dog didn't understand a damn thing he was saying, yet he felt the need to comfort it. "I'm gonna help."

He leaned in when within reach, deliberately and cautiously. The dog flinched. It whined a bit. 

" S'okay. "

Carefully, his fingers made contact with the underside of the dog's chin. He stroked the dirty, damp fur there for a moment, part of him was horrified that he'd gone so close to the damn thing's mouth while another part of him argued and urged him to stay the course. He applied more gentle pressure, giving the beast's thick coat a good scratch, eventually working his hand further down the dog's neck. 

"That's it. Ain't so bad. Almost there." He encouraged, sympathetically. The dog's eyes finally opened from their fearful, anticipatory squint and it fixed them on Daryl's. His heart caught a bit on the fear he recognized there. 

"Hey, I got you" he said, with a bit of finality. If he didn't know better, he could have sworn he saw the dog visibly relax at that. It sighed, swallowed, and stilled. Daryl reached for the wire, noticing now a bit of blood visible on his ruddy, filthy coat. With a single, quick movement, Daryl snipped away the snare. The dog yelped a bit, likely more from the sound than the feeling, and immediately realized he was free. Daryl and the dog both sprang to their feet in tandem, backing away immediately to give each other a wide berth. Both stood facing one another, anticipatory and unsure, panting and heads lowered, waiting for the other to move. Daryl figured, since he hadn't moved by now, the dog had no intention of attacking him out of malice. He took a bit of a breath. He moved to offer an open hand.

"C'me-"

And with that, the dog was off and running again, apparently spooked by his latest movement. Daryl's hand fell to his side as he deflated, surprised at how disappointed he was that the animal had bolted. He folded up his multi-tool and stashed it back in his pocket. 

"Fine." He huffed as he moved to bend back to his crossbow. 

He felt a solid weight slam into him from behind and suddenly he was falling. As he hit the floor, he landed on his right shoulder. That goddamn shoulder. The one he'd been stabbed in and then shot in within weeks of each other, a few years ago. The shoulder that never healed quite right, and every now and then would get pissed off and be almost useless for a day out two. There was some kind of nerve damage in there and right now, his arm was both searing and completely numb at the same time. The pained breath he sucked in tasted like rot and he scrambled to turn over under the weight of the heavy Walker. His crossbow was out of his reach and his arm was pinned and wasn't cooperating with him enough to reach his knife. He found a terrified help blowing past his lips, unintentionally urging the huge walker on. 

His left hand was up under its jaw, holding its gnashing inscisors at bay. The Walker's throat had been torn out prior to its death. How, he couldn't begin to fathom or care about, but that's one of the reasons it had managed to sneak up on him. No larynx, no sound. Couple that with his attention being solely on ensuring the dog didn't bite him, he just wasn't aware of the clumsy approaching foot falls.

Daryl tried writhing out of the monster's grasp, but it's bony hands had a vice grip on his vest. His shoulder throbbed so badly that it made his vision vibrate. He started to attempt to get his knees under the body but the action had caused the face of the Walker to dip even close to his own. Nothing was working and he could feel the adrenaline beginning to turn the muscles in his good arm into chewing gum. His left hand slipped in the gore, causing it to move further down its. He was losing his grip. 

This was it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl finds himself in a seriously bad way after a series of mishaps. He's on his own, desperate, and fighting for his life.
> 
> This one took me a while to get going, too. For that, I apologize. We have one more chapter after this. Lemme know what you think and where you think this is going!
> 
> **Characters aren't mine. No copyright infringement of any kind is intended.

He screamed. In frustration, in pain, in exertion, and in terror. He was losing his grip on its throat. Diseased, blackened blood and tissue was sloughing off, oozing through his fingers and raining down onto his face. He knew he was within the last few seconds of his life. He wasn't the type that would go out without a fight, but he recognized the mess he was in. Recognition, however, isn't necessarily acceptance. He all but roared at the Walker in one last show of defiance.

His lungs ran out of steam and just as he was about to close his eyes and ready himself for the end, he caught a flash of something move in his periphery. The Walker lurched backwards in two jolted motions. The movement confused Daryl for a moment. The growling that was now making its way to his ears was also confusing him. The Walker wasn't able to make noise before... 

He a saw a pair of large, pointed ears sprout from behind the top of the rotting skull before him, like a sick joke. That goddamn dog.

The Walker, while still having a firm grip on him, was now fighting in earnest to continue forward. It clung and scratched wildly to the thick leather protecting his chest. The dog was pulling at its back with all its might, meanwhile. A cacophony of snarls and wet tearing found its way to his eardrum, hitting off it in the most grotesque way. 

"Good dog! " Daryl gasped, out of breath, strangled, voice filled with incredulity. He kept trying to kick backwards away from his pursuer, heels digging into the moist loam, but it wasn't working as he'd like. The dog readjusted his grip on the corpse with a fierce growl and the head began to bob and wobble. The animal had, very astutely, grabbed the back of the attacker's head and was now working to remove it, apparently. It shook and shredded with abandon like it was tearing up its owner's stupid decorative couch pillows. 

There came a sick set of cracks and pops and the body stilled and went limp. The head was floating above him now, still frantically snarling and snapping. It moved sharply to his left and he waited in disbelief, watching as the dog shook it one more time before dragging it away. Daryl threw the headless dead man off him with his good arm before weakly pulling himself to his feet. He stood, teetering for a moment as he tried catching his breath, watching the dog growl at the severed head. He cradled his arm against himself and loped forward before lifting his booted foot and bringing it down hard to silence the head once and for all.

He regarded the mess before taking a look around to ensue he wasn't about to fall back into the same situation. His back found a nearby tree before allowing his knees to buckle. He leaned his head back and allowed his eyes to take in the grey sky as he wiped at the bloody mess on his face. A huge sigh left him before he ventured a glance back to the destroyed skull. To his surprise, the dog was not only still there, but sitting, staring at him... Almost expectantly.

"Thanks," he breathed, feeling like an idiot immediately. The dog whined quietly in response, standing to pace nervously. Daryl winced and turned his head skyward again, still trying to quell the adrenaline that was causing his muscles to tick and his lungs to bellow.

As he sat and caught his breath, he watched the dog continue to act conflicted. It would move towards him a stride or two before seemingly reconsidering, backing off, and alternating between sitting or standing. It's eyes would make contact with his before skipping away like a rock on water. This animal wasn't feral, as much as it looked it. It had, if even for a very short time, long ago, had known human kindness. Daryl found himself wondering about how the dog had come to be alone. Then scolded himself. Probably the same damn way anyone ended up alone, nowadays, he concluded. He sighed heavily again and the dog perked up, stopped his nervous movements for a short second and his eyes fixed on Daryl's.

"Okay" he huffed, gathering himself before pushing off the roots of the tree with a wince. He stood for a moment, careful not to spook the hesitant animal, before brushing himself off a bit and walking slowly over to where his crossbow still sat. He moved to sling it over his injured shoulder before catching himself. It hung from his left hand instead and he took stock of the area once more as he turned back to the dog.

"C'mon, then" he nodded in the direction of his camp, "S'pose yer hungry."

~~~

He washed up in the creek as soon as he'd gotten back to his camp. He figured the dog had taken a raincheck on the offer since about 2 minutes into the walk back, he'd lost sight of him when he checked over his shoulder to see if he was still there. Oh well. He had plenty of food for the moment, but he wasn't necessarily sure about feeding another mouth, long term, especially if it was going to need fresh game regularly.

When Daryl turned back towards his tent, however, the dog was standing at the tree line. He was surprised and, if he was being honest with himself, a bit happy for the company. He moved towards his tent and dipped his head to enter, going immediately for the crate of newly delivered foods that Carol had gifted him. After searching through the jars for a moment, he came upon a particularly prized item. Bless that woman. Pickled pigs' feet. One of his favorites.

He dragged his raincoat back on, only draping it over his inflamed shoulder, before turning to exit the tent again. The dog wasn't in the spot at the tree line when he checked. Instead, it was standing at the lip of the creek, lapping set the cool water. Daryl's intensely pragmatic nature, although never anywhere but at the forefront, was momentarily taking a slight back seat to a bit of childlike interest in his guest. The boy in him felt encouraged by the dog's bold decision to cross into his camp without being coaxed, as much as he'd hate to admit it. He genuinely liked dogs. Always had. He'd never had one as a kid, unlike so many. But then again, he didn't have much as a child, and he wouldn't have blamed a dog for turning tail and running for the damn hills had one ever found itself unlucky enough to end up a part of the Dixon household.

He and the dog considered one another for a moment before Daryl dipped, sure the animal wouldn't run off, to start a small fire. Once it was going, he turned back to the now visibly curious creature. He nodded to it, shaking the jar a bit to entice it, the fluid inside audibly sloshing about. The dog's ears perked again.

"You wanna eat?" he called, cracking the seal on the mason jar, "C'mon."

He pulled one of the slippery, gristley bits of meat from the jar, and brought it to his mouth, taking a messy, loud bite immediately. As soon as the food made contact with his tastebuds, he realized how little food he'd been consuming, recently. His subconscious caused him to draw in a deep breath and let out a satisfied sigh as he savored the taste for a moment. His eyes flicked back to the dog, now watching him with laser focus. A bead of  
drool escaped from the dog's open mouth. Daryl took another big bite, the tart liquid and grease running down his chin.

"C'mon," he urged again, around his mouthful of collagen and sinew. He tore a morsel away from the rest of the trotter and tossed it in the dog's direction. It flinched. For a moment, Daryl held his breath instinctively, ready for it's right of flight response to kick in.

But it only wavered a bit. It licked it's wet chops through a wince, pacing forward, snatching up the meat, and retreating backwards immediately.

"Good," Daryl grunted, tossing what was left of the meat in his hand to the dog. The animal took it in its mouth, happily, and trotted back to the tree line... but didn't leave camp.

~~~

A few days passed, and Daryl found the dog, who'd he discovered was a male due to its seemingly compulsive need to miss on everything, and himself becoming more brave around each other. The weather had begun to clear the night the visited his camp, and since then, had taken to sleeping next to the warm fire after eating a meal, even after Daryl had turned in for the night. Whenever Daryl left camp to check his traps or, with a sudden renewed faith, search the area for Rick Grimes, he found the dog, shadowing him. Sometimes with more distance between them, sometimes with less. But Daryl had found that the dog seemingly had a good amount of self-awareness, and always managed to keep quiet and keep from underfoot. It also has a good sense about Walkers. For the most part, it managed to give them a wide berth, but it also managed, intentional or not, to alert Daryl when they were near. Their tentative working relationship was becoming rather symbiotic. Almost friendly. It was starting to feel good, having another presence around.

Long summer days were still a ways away, though the weather had turned a fair bit friendlier in the small handful of days since he'd had his run in with the Walker. He'd really tweaked that damn shoulder of his this time. It still wasn't anywhere near better. In the mornings it was damn near useless. By the evenings, he could have sworn he was hearing a cartoonish thrum, like you'd hear in a movie to indicate that something was radioactive, coming from that left shoulder.

As he sat near the fire tonight, poking uselessly at his small meal, he noticed that the air around him started to feel like it had forgotten it had been a comfortable temperature all day. He felt cold and run down. He swallowed thickly, deciding he wasn't hungry at all now. He looked over to the dog, who'd already polished off his meal of raw woodchuck head, feet, and pickled carrots. He wasn't about to let the meal he suddenly couldn't stomach go to waste. He shot a quiet whistle in the animal's direction and brandished his plate.

"Hey," he murmured to the mutt. The dog looked unsure for a moment. Daryl wiggled the plate a bit more before it started to approach him from the other side of the fire. Daryl tossed the blue enamel coated plate to the dirt just to his right. The dog approached almost cautiously, sniffing the air in front of it.

"Go 'head, take it," Daryl nudged as he turned his attention back to the fire. After a beat, the dog tucked into the dish. He found himself smiling a bit, despite how he was feeling, at the progress he and the animal had made in the last few days.

Without thinking, he reached down to venture patting the dog on the back. He felt the dog freeze immediately and within a fraction of a second, reacted explosively to the touch, frantically snapping at the air in Daryl's direction while eliciting a mix of snarls and yelps. Daryl recoiled immediately, shifting backwards enough to almost fall off the log he'd perched upon. The dog looked gobsmacked when it stopped flailing. Realization had set in instantly and a new kind of panic showed in his eyes. The dog cowered and quickly skulked away, past the tent and up the hogback at the tree line, out of sight. It all happened so quickly.

Daryl sat there for a moment before he realized his right hand was painful. He inspected the back of his hand, anticipating that he'd find a bite from the dog. The only thing there was the wound he'd made a few days back when he'd gouged a hole into his own flesh as a means of staving off a massive flood of anxiety. The edges were red and angry, and now that it firmly held his attention, he realized how much it hurt. He dropped his hand to his side, shaking it off, as if the action would knock the pain loose and stared off into the trees, searching for the dog.

Daryl waited for what he figured was about an hour for the dog to come back. In that time he reprimanded himself over and over for various things, including touching a dog that was eating, trusting a stray dog not to try to maul him, for injuring himself so stupidly, for wasting his food on an animal, and for being angry at the dog for the reaction it had. Eventually he couldn't even chastise himself anymore because he was freezing. The cold made its way deep into his muscles and was now causing him to shiver. His had was also beginning to throb. His head felt heavy. He needed to lay down before he fell down.

Daryl Dixon wasn't a fool. He knew exactly what he was experiencing. That minor wound was infected. It wasn't the first time he'd had an infected cut, though. He knew he'd have to go to The Kingdom tomorrow and have it looked at by one of the doctors. Waiting until tomorrow wasn't a great idea, but it beat the hell out of leaving right now, at dark, with one bum arm on one side and an infected hand on the other. He painted himself into a bit of a corner this time.

He stood up and headed into his tent to catch some sleep before heading out at first light.

~~~

The feeling of flames consuming his hand while the rest of his body plunged into an ice bath tore him from his fitful sleep. He pulled himself into a sit, shuddering at the chill that dug its claws deeper into his flesh as the cool spring morning air hit his shirt, soaked through with sweat. It wss still dark out, but by the light of his lantern, he ventured a bleary look down at his hand. Angry, red striations ran up his wrist past the cuff of his shirt. He flexed his swollen hand and the skin pulled painfully taught around his bones. He hissed and pulled his hand into himself, sheltering it against his body. He went to reach for his knife with his other arm and was quickly reminded that his opposite shoulder was still injured as well. He was really in it deep.

He growled, wrapping his inflamed hand around the handle of his knife and stowed it in its sheath at his hip. He fought to get his jacket on and layer his vest over top of it. Despite multiple layers, he still felt as if the blood was turning to ice as it pumped through him. He wavered momentarily as his head swam and his eyes fell to his crossbow. He wasn't going to be able to bring it. He wouldn't be able to carry the damn thing, much less draw it or aim. He wouldn't be able to take his bike either. He wouldn't be able to steer or use the throttle. He'd have to take a gun and he'd have to hoof it, all the way to The Kingdom. He had a limited amount of ammo left, but this was an emergency. As good a time as any to use it.

He left with little else. At this point, he'd make it or he wouldn't. More supplies would just be more weight for his injured body to carry and cold comfort.

He wasn't sure how long he'd been walking, but the sun was just about over his head now. His ears were ringing and his head throbbed with each clumsy foot step. The morose voice in his head mused that he must look like one of the small gathering of Walkers that were trailing behind him. He'd gotten shot over the very same thing years ago. It would be just his luck that someone at the gates of The Kingdom would make the same mistake Andrea had. Only this time he'd catch an arrow with his face instead of a bullet. Maybe they'd be a better shot and end this mess.

He'd chosen to walk a paved road in order to give himself a good line of sight ahead and behind, though he hates feeling exposed. He handled a few that got too close. But each time he had it left his head spinning and hand throbbing a bit more. He knew that fighting them all off would be a waste of what little energy he had left. They were a safe distance behind him, for now. He'd deal with them if they caught up.

Or he'd try, anyway.

He pushed on. He knew he was a little more than halfway there. Honestly, he was a bit surprised. It felt to him like he was dragging ass and going nowhere. His injury to his shoulder was seriously impeding his locomotion, unaware prior to this that he swung his arms as much as he did, now missing the movement.

A massive wave of nausea knocked him for a loop out of the blue, sending him doubling over. He wretched painfully, with his entire body, forcing him to steady himself with his infected hand against the ground. The sensation just made the bile crawl its way up his throat with a quickened pace. He couldn't even think. He didn't realize a Walker had broken through the thick brush that lined the road until it was just about on top of him. He turned when he heard the growls, bracing for it to fall atop him. With his infected hand, he raised his knife in a futile attempt to defend himself.

The monster was hit from the side with an astonishing amount of force. It was like a watching a particularly brutal tackle at a football game. The kind that ended careers and people didn't walk off the field after. This Walker wasn't gonna be picking itself up any time soon, either. The force of the fall driving its soft head into the pavement just about caused its skull to explode and a wave of cold, rotting blood and brain matter coated the road and Daryl's legs.

When he looked up, from the blood and the bike he'd brought up, he saw four paws meeting the grey asphalt. The dog had tracked him and saved him. Again. A weak, relieved huff of laughter left him as he struggled to stand again. The dog stood starting up at him, panting like he'd run a marathon, but there was a happy, expectant expression on his face.

"Good dog," he praised, swaying from the head spin. The dog whined and backed up, appearing anxious. The Walkers that had been on Daryl's trail were catching up. There were six now. He had to figure out how he was gonna deal with this because there was no way in hell, help from the dog or not, he'd be able to get out of this mess. He was just too feverish and weak.

Without warning the dog began growling and barking frantically at the encroaching bodies. The dog dashed past Daryl, weaving quickly in and out of them, egging them on. Distracting them. They lunged after the dog, clawing at the air as he zipped between them. Daryl realized quickly what was happening and slowly started backing towards the trees to wait out the the worst of it until they forgot he was there and took the bait the dig was laying out. He watched in amazement as they started to follow the four-legged Pied Piper, but he took the curb at the wrong angle and fell backwards into a thicket of brambles. His surprised gasp as his ankle rolled and the resulting commotion of him rustling around in the sharp tangles drew the attention of one of the straggling Walkers. As it stalked over, he saw the Malinois pause, giving him a conflicted look. His eyes connected with the animal's for a fraction of a second before it took off again, heading up the road, continued to bark.

He readied himself for the Walker to join him in the ditch, holding his knife as tightly as he could with his bloated fingers. It, too, toppled down off the high edge of the pavement its head and torso making contact with the ground just past his boots. It pushed itself up on its withered arms and grasped at his legs. With what strength he could muster, he leaned forward and brought his blade down into its head, ending its second life before it could take his.

He deflated instantly, settling his weary body into the ditch against a sappling. He gagged again, bringing up more bitter bile. He shuddered from the chill, made worse by how drenched in sweat his skin and clothes were. He could feel his brain, sloshing around inside of his skull, hitting off the inside of it. He needed to get up, to get moving again, but his legs just wouldn't cooperate with him. He tried twice more to get them up under himself, but it was no use. He was too weak. He needed to rest. Maybe then in an hour or two he'd have the strength to keep going.

He bent forward and reached for the corpse, dragging it up into his lap before dining the knife into its chest. He couldn't recall a time in his life where he'd met such resistance and had to fight so hard to work the blade through a kill.

He took a handful of festering innards and smeared them into himself, making sure to coat as much of himself as he could. He stalled for a moment, regretful that he'd just ruined one of the new shirts Carol had only just brought him. He needed her. He knew just seeing her would make him feel better. That dog gave him a chance to get to her. He'd make it there after he rested. And he'd make sure to thank the animal, somehow, if he ever saw him again.

He felt himself drifting off, her name on his fevered, delirious lips.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Final chapter. It's a bit longer. Not necessarily your classic "happy" ending, but a good one, I think. I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Special Guest Star: JERRY! Because if you don't love Jerry, what are you doing with your life???
> 
> Disclaimer: Characters arent mine(except two randos that I made up on the fly). No copyright infringement is intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading. Leave me some love.

"Your Majesty! Hey, Your Majesty, come up here!"

Carol paused, turning from the conversation she'd been having with one of the newer residents, to look aloft to the wall. Jerry stood alongside one of the shift guards, Steve, confused look plastering his face. She shot him a long suffering look before turning to excuse herself and heading for the ladder.

"Come on, Jerry. Don't call me that," she chided as she ascended. She was met by Jerry's giant bear paw of a hand, offered to help her up the last few rungs. Stubbornly, and still half annoyed, she shooed his hand away, pulling herself up and dusting herself off. Jerry looked contrite and it immediately caused her own expression to soften. As annoyed as she was that he felt it necessary to perpetuate this whole royalty thing, she really never could stay miffed at the man.

"What's up, Jerry?" she smiled and nudged him gently. He handed her a pair of binoculars and gave her a questioning glance.

"Did you notice if any of the new people that we brought in recently had a dog? There's one heading this way with some Walkers on its tail... No pun intended. Steve saw it a few times last week. I just didn't want it to get eaten if it belonged to somebody," he explained as he nodded off in the distance, encouraging her to take a look. Carol brought the binoculars to her eyes while giving her head a small shake.

"No, last people to bring in a dog were Larry and Kim and that was about eight months ago. That little one that yaps at all hours," she reminded him, "I don't know how upset I'd be if that one found itself outside the walls."

She looked to Jerry with a small smirk at her lips. She was only kidding, obviously, but it was her turn to look contrite. Ever the sweetheart, Jerry's absolute and boundless zest for life and love was not limited to humans. Her slightly off color jokes were not always well red by him, or most people, honestly. She brought a gentle hand to his shoulder in an apologetic gesture before bringing the binoculars back up to her face. She searched the streets momentarily before she caught sight of what Jerry was talking about. The dog was running towards the gate with a collection of around ten Walkers trailing behind it.

"That dog was out at Daryl's camp last week" she said, removing the binoculars from her eyes, squinting over them as if to make sure her eyes were still in proper working order before going back to them. She was a bit taken aback to see the Walkers giving chase to the poor thing again.

"Daryl has a dog now?" Jerry asked. Carol shook her head, removing the binoculars from her face one final time.

"It was just out there. Running."

It was getting closer now. Clearly visible without aide. It was panting frantically and barking every few strides. Carol wondered how long it'd been collecting those stragglers.

"Do you want us to... Yanno?" Steve piped up. Carol turned to him, squinting in the early afternoon sun. Jerry shot him a glare.

"Dude," Jerry warned.

"What, man? It's leading those things right for us. It's probably not friendly and it's definitely competing with us for food. It's probably better off." Steve defended his point nonchalantly. Carol watched at Jerry shook his head, slightly horrified.

"Well, it's definitely not friendly," Carol agreed with a grimace, "It growled at us when we saw it."

The dog was now about only about a block's distance from the gate and making an awful racket. It had paused to circle back around the small herd of Walkers before taking off at a jog again. Carol watched as it seemingly rounded them up, the curious behavior drawing her attention more closely. It continued on, slowing only when it reached the gates, barking its fool head clean off. Steve drew his now, waiting for the Walkers to get a bit closer before taking them out. The dog looked up at Carol, then, making very deliberate eye contact, before pacing in a circle and barking sharply once more.

"Carol," Jerry urged, "What should we do?"

"Take the Walkers out. There's no reason to kill the dog. Not right now, anyway," She said reaching for a bow that was leaning against the railing behind her. She grabbed up an arrow as well, quickly taking aim and letting it fly. It found its mark and Jerry and Steve joined her immediately, taking down all the bodies. When it was done, the dog kept pacing, barking, and whining. Carol lowered her weapon and set to descending the ladder, intent on making her way to the gate.

"Where are you going? You don't need to go out there!" Jerry called to her, "I'll have someone take care of it!"

She stopped at the gate as the two guards opened it for her, giving Jerry another exasperated look.

"I'm not made of porcelain, Jerry! I'm gonna get my hands dirty from time to time, you're just gonna have to deal with it!" She all but scolded, pushing past the massive steel barrier with Jerry, Steve, and another man hot on her heels. She eyed the barking dog as she passed it, rolling up the sleeves of her muted linen tunic before bending to pull the arrow from one if the Walker's heads. She tossed it aside and grabbed the thing by the ankles, fixing to drag it away.

"Hey, I know better than anyone you can kick literally any ass. It's the Boss you gotta remind from time to time." He offered with a chuckle. Carol turned her attention from the dog and spotted yet another Walker stumbling towards them. She dropped the limbs of the Walker and began to march toward it, unsheathing her knife.

"Well," She called to Jerry, jocundly, "He knows he's not my boss. And he can kiss my ass."

She planted a firm kick to the Walker's chest, knocking it to the ground easily before shoving her blade through its sunken right eye. She adored Ezekiel. Truly. Completely. She'd been treated like shit her whole marriage to Ed, and Ezekiel was the absolute opposite of that asshole in every way...

But, dear God, he, his pomp, his circumstance, and everything it entailed could be rather suffocating sometimes. She knew Jerry was just being a good friend to she and Zeke by having her back, but it wore thin at times. She needed to get away every so often. She needed to be "Just Carol" instead of "Queen Carol".

"I mean, the guy does kiss your ass." Jerry smirked. Carol snorted as she rose from her crouch.

" Yea, I guess. And I love him for it." She allowed, a self satisfied smirk at her lips.

She walked back over to the towering man's side, all the while keeping an eye on that dog. It was about at a panicked level of barking now. She gestured for Jerry to give her a hand with the body she'd previously set to moving and dipped to collect the legs, again, and they both set to carrying it towards the cart they kept at the gate for collecting the dead that tended to build up.

The dog charged her unexpectedly, running up, carrying on even more intensely than before. Within a second, Jerry had dropped the corpse's shoulders and was using himself as a shield.

"HEY! Watch it!" he roared at the animal. Carol had her knife drawn, just in case. It dashed back and forth before then, almost hoarse now from the effort of barking and panting. It stopped suddenly, running a few paces up the street in the direction it'd originally come from, only to stop and dart back. It did that for a moment, and Carol watched as it became obvious that the dog was acting desperately. She gently sidestepped Jerry's protective form, moving forward towards the animal.

"Carol!" He warned. She raised her left hand, asking him to wait as she continued. It's expression brightened at that and it bowed excitedly before it began whimpering and barking loudly again, moving another stride or two away from them. Something was going on. Gooseflesh pickled up the back of her her neck instantly. Her stomach turned.  
She turned on her heel and walked to the gate, looking back over her shoulder at the dog.

"Claire!" She called to one of the guards, a slight panic evident on her voice, "Get on your walkie and ask that horses be brought up for Jerry and I, please? I need my bow, too. If Ezekiel asks where we went, him we went to check something out and we'll be home soon."

"Got it."

Carol crossed her arms, turned back to Jerry, and rocked back on her heels, obviously trying to quell the awful feeling she was experiencing in the pit of her stomach. She let out a shuttering sigh.

"What's going on?" Jerry asked in a hushed tone. She didn't venture a glance at him. She could feel something in her threatening to break if she attempted to look someone in the eye right now. She couldn't explain it. Instead, She kept her eyes fixed on that scraggly dog who was now sitting in the street, still whining, still panting. Still begging her to give chase.

"We have to go check something out." She breathed, a worried grimace caused her mouth to contort. He shook his head and pressed her again.

"Check what?"

"I don't know. I just... I have a bad feeling, Jerry. I can't- I can't explain it."

A huge, comforting mit landed on her shoulder, so softly it barely registered in her mind, and he turned back to look at the barking dog, not understanding, but still accepting what she was asking of him. She sucked in a breath, trying desperately to oxegenate her mind and body into enough to calm her nerves.

~~~

"I've lost my mind. I've finally cracked." She thought to herself as she urged her horse on. They'd been following the dog for about 40 minutes now, no idea where it was leading them or why she'd started following it to being with. She was floored it had the energy to pace the horses at almost a full gallop. Any time they were about to make a turn he'd take off ahead and lead them down, what Carol was assuming was, the correct path before falling back with the horses. The longer they rode together, though, the harder and colder the rock that had settled in her gut had gotten. They were taking a very familiar route. One that she'd traveled many times over the last few years. And though she couldn't be sure where she was being led, she knew, deep in her bones where she was going and it terrified her.

They were coming up on a junction quickly and just like she'd anticipated, the dog pulled ahead, bearing right around the curve, only this time, the dog never slowed down. He disappeared around the bend. Carol's heart seized up for a moment before she pressed the horse again, slowing a bit only to take the corner with Jerry close behind.

Her blood ran cold a second later. A few hundred feet down the road, a form lay sprawled on the asphalt. She blinked a few times, forcing her eyes to make sense of what she was seeing in front of her.

"Oh god," she whispered to herself, nudging her heels into the horse's flanks again. She watched as the dog slowed and sniffed the air around the lifeless body before it disappeared into the bushes on the right side of the road. As she neared the mass of body parts in the street, she felt a momentary sense of relief wash over her as she realized the thing had been dead for a long, long while. Months and months, at the least. It was no one she knew. It wasn't him.

She felt herself dismounting before the horse had even slowed to a stop. She brushed her thick, windswept, grey tresses out from her face as she searched the trees for a sign of moment or a clue. Jerry's straggling horse came to a stop behind her.

"Carol, what are you doing?" He questioned. She had no answer for him. She honestly didn't know. She winced, frantically searching with her eyes through the dense forest, silently acknowledging that the dog's own mental state was heavily influencing her own.  
She felt an overwhelming emotion rising in her chest and when it made its way to the surface it ended up coming out of her mouth as a name.

"DARYL?!" she bleated into the forest. The force with which it left her body left her staggering, tripping over her own feet. She didn't hear anything returned. No answer came. A second, wordless cry of frustration reverberated in her throat.

Suddenly, the dog reappeared, it's head popping up from the deep watercourse at the edge of the road. It whined quietly. It was a truly pleading sound, beckoning her to the into the fosse full of brush and thorns. She rushed to the side of the road, peering downwards and was rewarded with a horrific sight. The unmistakable form of Daryl Dixon was sat bonelessly, sallow skin peeking out from under a thick coating of gore.

"Daryl!" She shouted again, crouching to slide down into the ditch, "Jerry, help us!"

The dog backed up as she approached, allowing her space to check him as she picked through the thick briar bush to get to him. She reached out to touch him, other hand rested on her knife's handle. The thought that she didn't know if she'd be able to bring herself to put him down if he was dead and turned skirted her consciousness for a fleeting moment. The second her fingers made contact with his skin, the thought danced away and then rebounded with the realization that he had a fever. Tears welled in her eyes, instantly.

"Daryl," She called again to him, softly, "Daryl?"

He stirred, a bit. His pastel eyes, ever the softest thing about him, cracked open slightly, letting her know he was there. He searched her face for a moment before scoffing.

"You ain't here." He groaned dismissively. She brushed the sweat dampened hair from his brow, tucking some of it behind his ears, frowning at him. She turned to see Jerry, expression aghast, making his way to them.

"The hell I'm not," she challenged, trying to stifle a laugh and a small sob simultaneously while checking the visible parts of his body over. The blood she was seeing wasn't his. She shook his broad shoulders just a bit in effort to rouse him. "Daryl. Daryl, were you bitten?"

God, she could taste the bitterness of that sentence on her tongue and it turned her stomach. Her voice trembled with fear and adrenaline. She shook him again before pressing him for an answer. He blinked up at her with the small slits he used for eyes before shaking his head almost imperceptibly. He was just this side of conscious.

"Cut's 'nfected." He slurred, "S'bad."

That was something odd to feel thankful for, but she in that moment, that exactly what she was. He limply produced his hand to show her the injury. He was right, it was bad. She'd seen worse, though. The wound would need cleaned and debrided, but as long as they got him home soon they should be able to take care of it. She wiped his brow, pushing away the perspiration threatening to fall from his brow into his eyes.

"Shoulder's..." He sucked in a weary breath, an odd place to pause a sentence, and gestured vaguely to his old injury before mumbling a single, vague syllable to punctuate his statement. She knew what he was referring to. That shoulder gave him trouble room time to time. She nodded to herself before turning to Jerry and quickly searching the area with her keen eyes for danger.

"Help me get him up?" She asked her friend softly. Jerry nodded at her, concern on his features as he reached his strong arms out to work on removing the fallen Walker that Daryl had dragged into his lap. She steadied Daryl's shoulders, afraid the motion of the body being dragged away would knock him over because he was so weak. Once Jerry had him free, Carol moved to position herself under his injured shoulder. Jerry grabbed the opposite side and they lifted him to his feet. He winced at the movement, pain and stiffness tugging at every part of his body. She watched as he moved to take a step and realized he was limping as well.

"Your leg, too?" She asked more worry audible in her voice. Jerry left Daryl's side in order to scramble up the shallow but steep embankment, so he could pull him up and then help her, as well. She watched Daryl shake his head a bit as he tried and failed to balance most of his weight on the uninjured leg.

"Nah." He lied, obviously. She frowned, but brought her other hand up to his chest to stay steady him. Carol looked on protectively as Jerry turned to reach for Daryl and helped him up the small slope before helping him gently settle his weakened body against the cool concrete. As Jerry turned his body back to her, she watched the dog easily take the slope and make its way to stand over Daryl's form. Part of her almost yelled out to discourage the dog from disturbing him, but she stopped herself. He had led them to him. She doubted that he'd suddenly maul him to death, but there was definitely a part of her  
that was still driven to safeguard him. He was so weak and her spirit felt like it was bleeding forth from her body just witnessing him in such a state. Logically, she knew he was a man, like any other, but there was part of her that was seemingly unwilling to reconcile that fact with what her heart believed about him. To her, he was strength and skill embodied. He was her constant. The reality of seeing him like this, for the first in so long, was disturbing, to say the least. Her chest felt robbed of breath and saline stung her eyes now that this was all hitting home.

She pulled herself to her feet and turned back to Jerry to make sure he was able to escape the shallow culvert. She was unsure how much good her slight frame would do to help Jerry, but offered her hand to him anyway. As soon as all three of them were out, Carol dipped again to check on Daryl.

Wordlessly, they got him to his feet and over to Carol's horse. She let Jerry bare the weight of Daryl's body for a moment before pulling herself into the saddle. Once she was settled, she looked down and came to the realization that getting him up there was going to be a project and that having him stay up there was going to be even more difficult. He was just this side of incapacitated and wouldn't be able to hang on behind her.

"How do you wanna do this?" Jerry worried as he looked up at her. She thought for a moment. They needed to get back as quickly as they could do one of them walking and tossing Daryl over the saddle like a sack of potatoes was out, as well. Aside from slowing them down, it was neither safe, not would it be dignified. She'd not put him though that on top of the rest of his suffering.

She suddenly found her memory jogged as her eye caught the small embellishments along her saddle. She could remembered back to when she was a child, maybe six or seven. Her father had taken her to a local fair and brought her to watch a trick rider show. One of the riders had dismounted their own horse and ride backwards, facing the original rider. It would be difficult because of how massively broad his shoulders were, but it would be much safer for her to ride, maintaining control while having a free hand to hold onto him if he couldn't physically hold into her himself. Her horse was dead broke and she could trust him to carry them both safely. She scooted back off the saddle to make room for him.

"Can you lift him?" she asked Jerry as she adjusted herself upon the horse's back, "I need his feet first."

Jerry bent at the knees to lift Daryl's body towards Carol. For a moment she was actually thankful that his tendency towards eating like a bird recently had lightened the load a bit. Daryl wasn't a very tall man, but he, when in good health and in times of plenty, had a rather bull-neck build to him. The last thing she needed was for Jerry to hurt himself while lifting Daryl's weight, too.

He protested slightly as the feeling of his feet leaving the ground was likely disorienting in his current state. But he had little energy to fight, and settled quickly.

"It's okay, buddy." Jerry soothed in that fantastically peaceful tone he had as he turned his body so she could reach for Daryl's ankles. Carol gingerly guided his left leg across the saddle, and after a bit of an awkward struggle, she and Jerry were able to get his sagging body upright against her own. Her right arm moved around his solid trunk to gather up the reigns while her left hand came up to rest at the back of his neck, guiding his lolling head to drape against her shoulder. His body wrapped around her own languidly, allowing for her to cradle him to her almost comfortably and see over him more easily than she'd thought. Jerry looked hesitant to let go of him fully but Carol nodded down at him.

"I got him, I got him."

With that, Jerry returned the nod and hurried to mount his own horse.

"You got me." Daryl repeated softly in delirium into her neck. She stroked the back of his head in attempt to soothe him, waiting for Jerry's mount to move. She looked down at the dog as it sat calmly in the street, it's demeanor completely changed from how manic it had been the entire way here. She offered the animal a silent, misty smile before verbally assuring Daryl.

"I got you."

~~~

The hour had grown late and the room dark except for the candle. It was eerily quiet aside from the sound of Daryl's nearly inaudible draw of breath. The room had been buzzing a few hours ago when he'd been brought in. Carol oversaw the every procedure and every treatment administered. He'd had an IV started the moment he came through the door. She was grateful that Ezekiel had talked her into that campaign last month that took them out of state to that rural hospital in Maryland. The fluids, antibiotics, and NSAIDS Daryl was receiving brought his dangerously elevated temperature down to more manageable territory quickly. She perched now, on the window sill across from his bed, watching, waiting, and hoping he'd turn a corner soon.

She turned her head from the bed to peer out the window. There was barely any light except for a few small fires across the street in the square. The fire light caught some movement that attracted her eye to the tree opposite the window. That's where the dog had settled. He'd run along with the horses the entire way back to The Kingdom and even through the gates. She'd lost track of him in all the rush to get Daryl taken care of, however. He hadn't been far apparently.

She felt a pang of guilt that the poor thing had gone all day, running all across the countryside and was now sleeping under a tree, waiting, apparently to see if Daryl, who he'd obviously formed some sort of attachment to, was going to be okay. She looked back to the unmoving form sprawled in the queen-size mattress and frowned before crossing the room. His skin was still hot to the touch, but thankfully no longer searing. She took his injured hand, careful not to disrupt the flow of the IV lines in his arm, and tucked it neatly under the blankets pulled them up a little higher on his chest. She hesitated, hovering over him for a beat, reaching to sweep his dark hair from his forehead before bending to plant a gentle kiss there like she had years back when they were on the road. A silent promise that she'd be back soon.

She left the room, the building, and walked down the road to her place. The large smokehouse that Ezekiel asked to be built was out behind the old building. She marched in and pulled a small string of chicken sausages down off a rack before turning closing the door and walking back to the hospital building.

He was still sitting under the tree as she walked up the handful of steps to the front door. Head down, tucked over his paws. She whistled quietly to his and watched as he perked up, searching for the sound. He spotted her quickly and walked across the narrow street, stopping at the curb in front of her. She pulled her knife out and cut one of the sausages loose tossing it to him. He ducked away from at the motion only to rebound immediately once he realized it was food betting tossed his way. She found herself smiling at him, tossing another piece his way. When he finished, she climbed the final step and opened the door.

"Come on," she encouraged, holding the door ajar for him to enter. He curled into himself a tad, shifting from foot to foot, eyes downcast and then back on her own in an instant. It struck her then that this dog and Daryl were one in the same. Their habits, their mannerisms, matched each other note for note. She didn't know if Daryl realized it, but she found herself flooded with an immense sense of gratitude to the animal suddenly.

She coaxed him again, gently, and he slowly passed her and moved into the hall. She closed the door behind her and ushered the animal into Daryl's room. She came up alongside the shabby animal and watched as it sniffed the air, recognizing Daryl's scent quickly. She moved other side of the bed, sitting down at the foot gingerly so as not to disturb the man and drew her legs up. The dog moved closer, continuing to sniff at the air until he was right next to Daryl. She couldn't believe her eyes as she watched the the dog rest his head on the bed before backing away to lay down on the floor.

"Thank you," She whispered to him, knowing full well the dog wasn't able to understand her immense gratitude, but compelled to speak it, nonetheless.

She leaned over to better reach the bedside table and blew the candle out, settling in to keep watch over Daryl and his new companion for the remainder of the night.

~~~

A door closed. It wasn't slammed shut or even closed particularly gently. Someone closed a door somewhere and in his sleep's twilight, it registered as an alien sound. Incorrect and out of place to him. He felt an alarm go off in his head but it wasn't connecting as quickly as it should with his body. Everything felt heavy. He was warm and dry despite his lack of clothes, but damn, he was sore. He tried with what felt like everything he had to wrench his eyes open. The little bit of light was sharp to his eyes. He tried to bring a hand up to shield himself from the aggressive brightness of the daylight, but his right arm was restrained in some way.

Well, THAT was unsettling.

He felt a bit of his energy come back to him instantly, confusion and fear summoning it into his muscles and bones. He sat upright and felt a tug at his left arm as well and looked down to see the lines hooked to him and the sutures criss-crossing the back of his hand. Sensations were flooding his mind now and causing a massive amount of disorientation, until a sudden touch, familiar in energy despite the layer of blanket material atop his skin, anchored back to reality.

"Hey," her voice soothed, her gentle touch settling him almost immediately. He turned towards the sound from the foot of what he now recognized was a bed, blinking in disbelief. He couldn't begin to conceive of how she came to be sitting there in front of him, massaging a gentle, assuring motion into his shin when the absolute last thing he remembered was rubbing himself down with Walker guts. She was a miracle, that woman. In mind, body, and spirit and he couldn't believe she'd found him.

"Wh... How'd you-?" He sputtered, looking from her down to his arm, realizing now it was in a sling because of his shoulder . He blinked back to her, mouth slightly agape and watched a soft smile bloom across her face.

"Your friend," She answered, simply. He felt himself continue to blink at her. His friend? He didn't know what she was talking about. Her smile widened and she nodded to the other side of the bed.

"You fell down the well, Timmy," She jested dryly. He turned his head to where she'd indicated and his eyes fell upon the proud figure of the dog, a calm recumbancy to his posture as he laid upon the dark wooden floor. He blinked back to Carol, who simply shrugged.

"I don't know. He showed up at the gates with a Walker entourage and wouldn't shut up until I followed him. He was acting so oddly, and the last time I saw him, I was with you, and I just- I don't know. I got this horrible feeling, so I just... Went," She explained as she looked at the dog softly. He followed her eyes to him and he lifted his injured hand, holding it out to the animal. It licked it's lips, nervously, by didn't move. There was a quiet pause between them as she allowed for him to process the absolute avalanche of absurd information. He felt her weight rise from her spot at the other end of the bed. She sank into the spot next to him, gingerly, so as not to jostle into his injured shoulder, and stretched her legs out parallel to his.

It was comfortable and too much at once. The contact, her hip pressed to his, sent a spark through him that pulled his attention back to her. She smiled at him with her eyes so genuinely that he felt his breath catch.

"How do you feel?" She asked.

"Better," he allowed with a small nod, his bashful eyes pulling from hers for a second, needing a break from the peaceful intensity in them.

"Yeah?"

" Yeah," the corner of his mouth hitched slightly, "Hand still hurts a little, but..."

He trailed off, letting the sentence hang on a shrug. She hummed in understanding and he found himself again trying to lure the quiet guest on the floor to his bedside, hand outstretched.

"So, what happened?" She asked, "Why were you out there?"

"Got the cut the day you left," he began, withholding the information about how he'd come to receive the cut on his hand, "... Hurt my shoulder helpin' him that day, too. Walker snuck up on me. Fell."

"And you waited?" She asked. The question brought his attention back to her and she fixed him with a look.

"Felt fine 'til I didn't."

She pursed her lips, biting her tongue. He knew she had every reason to lay into him about his seeming unwillingness or inability to care for himself, but she didn't, and he was thankful for it in that moment. He turned back to the dog, her non-verbal as intense as the sun.

"Well, you're lucky somebody had your back," she yielded. He introduced his hand into the space between them once more. They were silent for a few beats.

"Hasn't lemme touch him yet." Daryl admitted, feeling a little disappointed.

"Seriously?"

"Nah. I dunno why he helped me. He don't seem to like me too much." His hand fell back to the bed beside him, frustration visible in his action.

She snorted at that. That little, sarcastic laugh she'd let out when she found something authentically funny. That little laugh that always made his stomach dip and his heart feel light. Sometimes he felt like that little laugh might just break him.

"Well, you tried to pretend you didn't like us at the beginning, too," She teased him. He found himself smiling at that a bit. A fair point. She continued, "He's just scared. He's trying to figure out where he belongs, like us."

He nodded in agreement at her poignancy. Another fair point. They'd all needed time to adjust and trust others. It was no different for the dog, he realized. She shifted her weight a bit closer to him, lounging against him as tenderly as she could, resting her head against his sling covered arm. He wanted so badly to turn into her, but his face into her side and drift back off to sleep.

"What's his name?" She asked quietly. Daryl frowned to himself. He hadn't even thought about what to call him. He shrugged against her.

"Idunno. Doesn't have a name. Jus'... Dog."

Out of nowhere, in a single motion, the dog rose to its feet and walked to the bed making gentle contact, muzzle to Daryl's hand, before licking his open palm affectionately. He was shocked. The gasp that arose from Carol indicated she was, as well.

"Is that you, man? 'Dog'? That yer name?" He asked the animal, softly. She chuckled.

"'Dog' it is, I guess."

"Good Dog," he allowed, dragging his hand gently up and down his fuzzy neck.

They sat that way, the three of them, for about an hour, just enjoying each other. Carol eventually got up. Someone came knocking, seeking her out for her royal approval on this or that. Told that Ezekiel was wondering where she was and if Daryl was doing any better. He missed the contact, immediately, but knew he couldn't keep her. Dog seemed to sense that his inward mood had changed, though, and he carefully climbed into the bed.

If course, it wasn't the same. No one could ever match up to her. But it was nice to not feel a colossal, looming sense of loneliness for the first time in the immediate wake of her leaving a room.

**Author's Note:**

> Oh look. The Crazy Dog Lady is writing a fic about Dog. Don't act too surprised now. 
> 
> Leave me some love. Or tell me to fuck off. 
> 
> Thanks as always!


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